


Mighty Have Fallen

by auberus, Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Category: Highlander: The Series, NCIS
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe, Crossover, Don’t copy to another site, GFY, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 17:45:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19408237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auberus/pseuds/auberus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: Methos meets a not-so-dead Jenny Shepard, and in the process, acquires a student.





	Mighty Have Fallen

She had finally come out of the room she rented under one of the various aliases she'd developed over the years. Four days since she had woken up in a morgue drawer, vivid memories of being shot assailing her with the certainty she should be dead. Four days of hiding while she tried to wrap her mind around it.

But to get a headache just as she finally got out of the room... it was irritating, to say the least. She took another sip of her bourbon before sliding off the bar stool. Better to get back to her room before the headache could incapacitate her in public. Even now, she clung to the habits from before her death, not allowing herself to display weakness where others could see it.

The presence vibrating down his spine is enough to put Methos off the idea of beer, or at least the bar. Washington, D.C. is not a good place for a challenge, or even for trying to avoid one. There are too many law enforcement agencies about, and all of them are unpleasantly suspicious. It's only gotten worse since 9/11; yesterday he'd nearly gotten himself arrested for leaving his backpack unattended in the Library of Congress, and he'd only been gone for five minutes. The whole city makes him irritable. There are too many cops and too many metal detectors, and there are definitely too many Immortals. Scowling to himself, he buries his hands in his coat pockets and starts for the door -- only to come face to face with the very person he'd been trying to avoid.

She's tiny, not much larger than Alexa, and there's a fatigue at the corners of her eyes and mouth that only increases the resemblance. That fatigue, however, is as far as it goes. His gentle Alexa had possessed a core of steel, but this woman's eyes are as hard as diamonds. He gives her Adam Pierson's most harmless smile -- Adam may have gone the way of the dinosaur, but his mannerisms are still helpful -- and ducks his head slightly so that he's looking at her through slightly-overlong bangs.

"Look, I'm really not interested in anything but the microbrew selection," he says, shifting slightly from one foot to the other. "If you pretend I'm not here, I promise to do the same." He doesn't recognise her, which always makes things a bit trickier; forces him to show his belly and hope for the best rather than to tailor his not-interested spiel for effectiveness. Some Immortals take a show of submission as a sign of an easy mark, and while it's never hard to disillusion them, it increases his chance of getting picked back up by the Watchers.

Nearly running into the man at the door of the hotel bar doesn't help the headache, or her temper, and Jenny is nearly tempted to interrupt his babble with a Gibbs-like snap. He's not familiar, and she'd expect something like that out of an enemy already aware of her death - she'd seen the coverage of the fire at her home. Not from someone who did a good impression of a student, even if she wasn't entirely sure he was.

"Do I know you?" she asked, giving him a look she perfected as Director of NCIS, that worked on everyone other than Gibbs. One that demands answers, and usually gets them.

"No," Methos says firmly, while a litany of ancient profanity unrolls itself in his head. The only thing worse than running into an unknown Immortal is running into an unknown Immortal that knows him. The only thing worse than that would be... oh, *hell*. If the Gods are kind, he's wrong. Based on their track record, however, he's probably right. Why it couldn't have been Matthew of Salisbury who ran across this woman first, he'll never know. Salisbury, after all, *lives* in this godforsaken city. That Methos, a visitor, was the one to stumble over her, is probably proof as to just how bad his karma actually is.

He's more than half-tempted to just leave it at that and walk away; wants to badly enough that he can taste it. Except that if he has acquired a Watcher, Dawson will certainly hear about this little encounter, and Methos has had enough of the rough side of Dawson's tongue to last him for the rest of the century. He isn't even going to think about MacLeod.

"I'm bloody well going to regret this," he says, mostly to himself, then turns his attention back to the woman, hoping against hope that he's wrong, and that she'll laugh scornfully at him when he asks his next question. "This is probably going to sound a bit -- all right, extremely odd -- but..." This is always the hard part, especially in this era of hard science and absolute proof. He sighs, and forces himself to just *get on with it*. "You haven't had a should-have-been-fatal accident in the past few days, have you?" Hearing it out loud in modern English makes him wince again, but he shifts from foot to foot again and waits for her answer.

Jenny raises an eyebrow, watching the man silently for a moment before responding, her voice remarkably even, and almost devoid of emotion. "And if I have?"

She's not about to tell an absolute stranger that she died in a shootout in the desert, or woke up in a morgue when she should have been dead. Not unless he can provide some answers, and quickly. Because the headache isn't going away, even if it isn't getting any worse, and she really would like to get back to her room where it's safe.

Or at least, as safe as anywhere in DC is when someone might recognize her face if she goes out. Which would then start awkward questions that she doesn't have answers for.

Bloody buggering _fuck_. Not only is she brand new, but she's going to be difficult about things. Methos is definitely dumping her on someone else, as soon as he possibly can.

"Then you and I need to have a chat." He shrugs uncomfortably, taking refuge in the familiar mannerisms that let him pretend to be less than he is, trying to project harmlessness with everything from his stance to his expression. "Otherwise, what you don't know could get you killed. Permanently, this time." He lowers his voice for this last, and forces himself not to look around for eavesdroppers.

Smiling sardonically, Jenny regards him with amusement for a moment before nodding to the door behind him. "I have a room here, if you'd rather not talk in public."

His behavior, the attempt to project harmless, is only putting her on edge, and at least in the room, she wouldn't have any witnesses if she shot him if he decides to attack her instead of providing answers. Answers she has already decided not to trust at face value, even if they make sense from the new perspective not staying dead has given her. But how to verify those answers... that she's not certain of, not yet.

"It would be the more prudent course of action," Methos allows. He really doesn't want to have to deal with her reactions in public. "After you." She might just be playing at being new -- it's an act he himself has used more than once -- and even if she isn't, five thousand years' worth of instinct would still prevent him from trusting another Immortal at his back.

Tilting her head, Jenny led the way, though tension showed across her shoulders, and she had to keep from reaching for the gun she had hidden at the small of her back. Glad, though, that the jacket she was wearing kept it hidden from the casual observer.

She turned to put her back to the wall next to the control panel as soon as they were in the elevator, punching the button for the ninth floor where her room was. If the man proved trouble, she'd have to abandon the alias and the room, so she wasn't exactly concerned if he knew where she was staying. Even if he wasn't trouble, she had other aliases and there were other hotels.

The room itself was right next to the stairwell, easier to get away quickly, and with a minimum of avoiding cameras, and she didn't quite turn her back on him as she opened the door. Holding the door, and tilting her head to usher him inside.

Long years of practice allow Methos to get through the door without making it obvious that he doesn't want to turn his back on her. She might be carrying a gun for perfectly legitimate reasons -- or this could all be a very elaborate trap. He's fairly sure that it isn't, but he didn't reach his current age by taking foolish chances.

The room itself is much nicer than the one he's ensconced in only a few blocks away, though there are times when the almost mechanical decoration of even the best hotels make him nostalgic for the days when most innkeepers used whatever came to hand. She's done little to alter the room's impersonal air; her suitcase is neatly packed and zipped on one of the beds, and the other is made with the sort of precision that would do a drill sergeant proud. He wonders idly if she made it, or if the establishment's housekeeping department is particularly efficient.

He sprawls into the chair nearest the window without waiting to be asked, partly to put his back to a wall and partly because he knows he seems less of a threat while seated.

"I don't suppose you've cracked the mini-bar?" he says plaintively. "I was planning on a drink, and my hotel doesn't exactly have what you'd call a good selection."

"Do you just drink beer, or would bourbon be acceptable?" Jenny closed the door gently behind her, moving toward the mini-bar without quite putting her back to the man. Pulling out the bottle of bourbon she'd bought on her way to the hotel that first night out of the morgue, and two glasses.

She had noticed his care in not actually putting his back to her, less even than she had allowed herself to put her back to him, and the care suggested to her a background that made trust a carefully-horded commodity. Familiar to her in agents and criminals alike, though never before in someone who looked so much like a student.

"Bourbon's fine. Neat, if you please." He watches in silence as she pours the drinks, accepting the one she offers him with a murmur of thanks, and waits until she's seated before taking his first sip. The liquor is smooth and clearly expensive, and he takes a moment to appreciate the taste before settling himself more comfortably in his chair. He's had this conversation probably a hundred times in his five thousand years, and it never gets any easier. Swirling the liquor around in the glass, he watches it for a moment before lifting his eyes to hers. He bloody well hates this part.

"A few days ago, you died." Bluntness usually works best with new Immortals, and he doubts this woman would appreciate it if he tried to soften things for her. "I'd imagine that waking up again came as quite a shock." He can't remember his own First Death, but he's seen enough new Immortals to be able to guess at her reaction. "What was it? Accident, mugging, murder?"

Jenny settled into the other chair, watching him over the rim of her glass as she took a sip. Listening to his assertation that she had died - which she wouldn't dispute, not with the memory of the shoot-out still vivid in her mind - and the rest. She liked to think that waking up in the morgue drawer was more of a shock than not being dead, even though she knew that wasn't entirely true.

The question, though... no. She wasn't ready to tell someone she didn't know how she'd died. Or how she had been supposed to die, if she hadn't been shot.

She gave him an amused look, raising an eyebrow as she took another sip of her bourbon before asking, "Does it matter how?"

"Not particularly," Methos admits. Against his better judgement, he's afraid he's starting to like this one. "It's the coming back bit that's important at this juncture." He takes another swallow of bourbon. This might sound less ridiculous if he's a little buzzed. "You see, you're Immortal." Or maybe not. Her skeptically-raised eyebrow is nearly as effective as his own, but he's had a long time to practice letting that sort of thing slide off of his back, and he can't quite keep one corner of his mouth from curling upwards as he adds, "You're not the only one, either."

"Immortal." Jenny doesn't make it a question, though there's disbelief in her expression and tone that invite a more complete explanation. She's fairly certain that he believes what he's telling her, if nothing else. Whether or not it's the truth isn't something she's going to take simply on his authority. "How exactly does that work, Mr...?"

She hadn't asked his name earlier, and that lack was an irritant to already frayed nerves, though not enough for her to actually show it in more than the skepitism and slow sip of bourbon as she watched him.

"Pierce. Julian will do, however. As for how it works..." Methos shrugs. "No one really knows. If you die, you revive. If you get injured, you heal. After your First Death, you don't age." His smile is for himself alone, though he doesn't bother to hide it from her. "If you'd like, I can demonstrate." He pulls the dagger out of his sleeve slowly enough that she -- hopefully -- won't take it as a threat, and sets the point against the palm of his hand. It's an old trick, and always convincing. "Like so." A flick of his wrist lays his palm open to the bone, and he turns it so that she can see, doing his best to keep from dripping blood onto the carpet. The familiar crackle of blue lightning soon takes care of a wound that, on a mortal, would have required surgery, and he holds the dagger out to her, hilt first. "Care to give it a try?"

Jenny watched the wound heal, noting the blue lightning with interest. Whatever it was, it was more than just healing - most injuries healed, even on normal people. Though she would grant, she had never seen anyone heal quite that fast.

The dagger she eyed with a cautious eye before setting her glass aside to reach for it. The point is sharp as she rests it against her palm, though she doesn't try the same trick he does, as curious as she is. Something shallower should be sufficient to activate whatever it is, and if it's not, it won't be as difficult to simply bandage a cut as a cut that deep.

The blade itself is sharp enough that it takes a moment to feel the cut, long and shallow, across the back of her arm after she rolls up her sleeve, watching the blood well up for a long moment before a similar lightning flickered into existance. Tickling faintly, rather like static, as it closed the wound before her eyes. Not as quickly, perhaps, as Julian Pierce, but quicker than most people.

"Fascinating." She held out the dagger to him in the same way he'd offered it to her, watching him with a sharp-eyed expression. "Is that all it does? Other than the alleged bringing people back from the dead part."

Which wasn't a part of the theory she had any intention of testing, not here, not with only him. Particularly when he had mentioned there was the possibility of dying and not coming back, even with this gift.

"No." This is the part he really hates. "We call it a Quickening. It heals you, keeps you from aging, and lets you sense other Immortals. You got a headache downstairs, yes? That's how you know that another of us is around."

He drains his glass and sets it down, leaning forward to catch her eyes with his own. "You need to learn to pay attention to it, because we hunt one another for it. To the death. Lose your head, and that death will be very permanent. Kill another Immortal that way, and their Quickening will transfer itself to you. It's pretty spectacular -- it looks like an electrical storm -- so Challenges take place in out of the way locations. Usually." The memory of MacLeod's oh-so-ostentatious fight on top of the Eiffel Tower still makes him grimace.

"There are rules, but only two that really count. No fights on Holy Ground. That goes for all religions, by the way -- Christianity, Judaism, Islam, even those obscure little sects that spring up from time to time. If mortals think a place is holy, I'd strongly recommend against fighting there. The rumour is that there were a pair of Immortals mixing it up in a temple on Atlantis just before it became the Lost Continent." She can believe that or not; he remembers Atlantis as clearly as he does Paris.

"The other is that there can be only one. Supposedly, we've all got to go about whacking one another's heads off until there's just one of us left. The last one standing gets the Prize -- and don't ask me what it is, because I've no bloody clue. There are others -- fights are one on one, and only blades are allowed -- but they're not as ironclad as the first two. If you do break them, I'd suggest not leaving any witnesses. Immortals with a reputation for cheating don't generally last long in the Game."

"Game?" Jenny gave him another of the amused, if disbelieving, looks that made people try to justify themselves. "Politics are a game, Mr. Pierce." She doubted this - audible capitalization and all - qualified as a game in her lexicon. Or even in that of Julian, though why she was certain of that, she couldn't quite pin her finger on, other than perhaps a gut feeling like those Gibbs was famous for.

Leaving no witnesses to cheating, though, that was something she could do. All she had to do was choose the ground she fought on, if all this was true. If someone chose to fight her one on one, if she had the choice of ground, they would be at as severe a disadvantage as she wanted.

"And in some countries, that game is even more deadly than ours," Methos points out. He reaches for the bottle and refills his glass without asking permission. "Hitler and Stalin were, after all, politicians." He sighs, leaning back in his chair.

"I won't lie to you; you're at an immense disadvantage. Most of the opponents you'll face will be larger, and they'll have a great deal more experience than you -- thousands of years more, in rare instances, though most of the truly ancient ones don't actively hunt any more. A good many of them will have literally grown up with the sword, much as today's children grow up with video games. It's not really considered sporting to go after a student, but there are those of us who will." He's done it himself, though not, admittedly, for nearly a thousand years.

"True." She acknowledges his point about politics being deadly in places. Sometimes in places she'd been, though not recently. "And I am quite accustomed to starting at a disadvantage, Mr. Pierce."

Giving him a secretive smile of her own, she finished her own glass, though she doesn't refill it. She doesn't like being at more of a disadvantage than she has to be, and more than a single glass is more than she wants to consume.

"How does one go about acquiring a teacher, then? I assume there's more to be taught than just how to fight with a sword and a few rules." As rules could be imparted with a few minutes conversation, and learning to fight with a sword could be done through various schools and teachers who weren't incapable of dying. Easily, at any rate.

"A good deal more. How to keep from being noticed is a large part of it. You can't spend a hundred years with the same name." Methos looks sourly at the remainder of his second bourbon. "Well, most of us can't," he amends. "It attracts attention." Tossing back the rest of the glass, he pours himself a third.

"You don't want mortals finding out what you are, trust me. A few centuries ago, all you'd have risked was getting burned at the stake -- unpleasant, yes, but it doesn't take too long if the wood's reasonably dry. These days, odds are you'd end up on a lab table somewhere." He takes another swallow of bourbon.

"As for acquiring a teacher," he shrugs, gesturing with the glass, "here I am. If you've no objections." He certainly hadn't intended to make that offer, and unfortunately, he can't blame it on the alcohol. He likes this woman. He can't remember the last time a new Immortal took this sort of news so calmly, even back when most mortals believed in the supernatural.

"Ah." Jenny smiled, looking down a moment before she met Julian's gaze again, assessing him a moment. Wondering why she already had the sense she could trust him, even though she barely knew him, and didn't even have corroborating evidence that everything he said was true, and not just an elaborate lie. Other than his clear belief in what he was telling her.

Though she had no intention of keeping this entirely to herself. It would just be a matter of figuring out how to explain what Julian had told her to Gibbs without getting shot. And getting him to quietly find out if he could find anything to support the assertations - other than the healing, which had it's own easy proof. And perhaps, while he was at it, a background check on Julian Pierce.

"I don't have any objections." Questions, yes, and perhaps concerns, but no objections.

"Good." Methos puts his glass down and sits up. "In that case, I believe I'm entitled to ask your name." He pauses for a moment, then adds gently, "And to tell you that whatever illness you may have had died when you did. Cancer?"

The smile that had still lingered on her face faded, and she gave Julian a sharp look at his last question. She doubted he had access to whatever Ducky had found out, and she wasn't about to share her medical infomation, not even with his offer to teach her what more she needed to know about being Immortal.

"Any illness I may or may not have had is not your concern, Mr. Pierce." She paused before adding in a softer tone, "My name is Jennifer Thomas." The alias she'd used to check into the hotel, and one which would be found to have an clean, if unremarkable past. An officer worker who kept her head down and her nose clean and never really got noticed or promoted.

Not like Jenny Shepard, Director of NCIS, officially dead in a fire at her home. A life which she had to leave behind if she wasn't going to attract more attention than she wanted at the moment. It wouldn't help for her to figure this out, being in the spotlight.

She's lying, which is interesting in and of itself. Methos makes a note to have Joe check the local obituaries -- that, or to do it himself. For a moment, he wonders whether or not to call her on it, then decides against it for the moment. "My apologies, Ms. Thomas. And please -- Julian will suffice." 

In an echo of her own softer tones, he adds, "I've spent some time as a doctor. The signs are fairly unmistakable." He looks down at the floor for a moment. Even now, Alexa's memory can still tear at him like a dull blade. "More recently, my last wife had cancer."

There are times when he hates himself for using even his own grief like a scalpel, but it's never stopped him from doing it. He looks up, smiles faintly. "You reminded me of her, a bit." She's mature enough not to get the wrong impression from that; he wouldn't have said it to a woman in her twenties.

She accepted the last for what it was, giving him a briefly sympathetic smile. "Only my doctor was aware of the nature of my illness, or even that it existed, Julian. I'm not about to change that." Jenny reached for the bourbon, pouring herself another half-glass. "And you can call me Jenny."

If she was going to call him Julian, after all, it was only polite to allow him to use her first name. Even if it would seem more a nickname for her current alias - not that she was entirely certain he accepted that as her name.

"I wasn't intending to pry, I assure you. Only to reassure." He tilts his head to the side. "Ironically enough, had whatever-it-was killed you, we wouldn't be having this conversation now. It takes a violent death to trigger latent Immortality."

That was an interesting tidbit of information, something that couldn't exactly be proved unless you knew someone who could be identified as having that latent Immortality, and could sit back and watch them live a long life and die in some manner that didn't constitute a violent death.

"Not all illnesses are without violence of their own." Jenny watched him over the rim of her glass again. "Are they all still incapable of triggering the Immortality?"

"I've never seen it happen," Methos admits. "Though I suppose it depends on what you mean by violence. Jumping off the roof in a fit of depression will do it, certainly -- though most pre-Immortals whose First Death is a suicide don't last long. Immortality does nothing for mental illness, you understand." Otherwise, Caspian and Byron would have been much easier to deal with.

"It doesn't do anything for addiction, either," he continues. "I've known more than one Immortal junkie in my time -- Byron, for example."

"The poet?" Jenny quirked up a corner of her mouth with skeptical amusement, taking a sip of her bourbon. "Or the rock star?"

Though, certainly it appeared Immortality wasn't some magic panacea, which did make it sound a little more real. Even the whole fighting to the death and beheading bit sounded just a bit fantastical.

"Both," Methos tells her, not bothering to fight back the smile that tugs at his lips. "We had some truly wild times swanning about Europe with the Shelleys and the rest of that crowd." It's been long enough that he can think about Byron without pain; without even getting angry at MacLeod.

"Artists -- real artists -- don't seem to last very long, though. Claudia Jardine is doing a better job than most, but then, she refuses to learn to use a sword. Spends most of her time on Holy Ground, when she's not performing." He shakes his head. He's spent his own fair share of time in hiding, but he's never really enjoyed it, and for all his desire to survive, can't imagine it as a permanent way of life. "It's a refuge for our kind; sanctuary, in the original sense of the word." He finds himself wishing he could have introduced Jenny to Darius.

"Something useful to keep in mind." Jenny added to her list of information to confirm, though this one might be more difficult than the rest, depending on the concert schedule for Ms. Jardine. And to check the details on the murder of the rock star who had gone by the name of Byron, though she was certain the obituary had claimed it was an overdose.

"I'd say so," Methos remarks dryly, leaning back in his chair again and crossing one ankle over the other. "Immortals who resolutely face every challenge have relatively short lifespans. I only fight when there's no other option." He resolutely ignores the little voice in his head that's making pointed remarks about Duncan MacLeod, and takes another swallow of bourbon. "May I offer you dinner? I strongly advise against going anywhere in Washington alone at this juncture, but going out accompanied should be safe enough."

The invitation was tempting, even though Jenny knew she ran the risk of being recognized if she went out. Even the trip to bar earlier had been a risk, though the one she'd encountered was not the one she was expecting.

"I think I'd like that." She gave him a warm smile that creased the corners of her eyes a moment, not quite certain why she trusted him enough to accept the offer. More of the same gut feeling that had her willing to let him into her hotel room, and to let him teach her what she needed to know rather than looking elsewhere, perhaps.

Methos returns her smile with one of his own. "Excellent. What are you in the mood for?" The variety of restaurants in Washington, D.C. is nearly as large as it is in New York City, though sadly, none of them offer the Roman food he's been craving lately. The stuffed dormice will have to wait until they get back to Seacouver.

Jenny was silent a moment, contemplating what she wanted to eat - beyond the simple desire to find a place she didn't think Gibbs might possibly be in. Something different from the usual fare available at the hotel, certainly.

"Greek. Your choice." The last bit was impulse, perhaps as much to keep her from subconsciously choosing someplace she'd gone to before, and might be recognized.

"I might know a place," Methos says, finishing off his drink and standing up. Julian Pierce's finances aren't in much better shape than were Adam Pierson's, but Methos always carries at least one decent credit card. 

~ ~~ ~

Komi's is a Washington staple. Methos has been there perhaps half a dozen times since it opened, and he's never been disappointed. Despite the truly awful things he's eaten in his time -- Caspian's cooking comes vividly to mind -- he knows fine cuisine when he tastes it, and Komi's definitely qualifies.

Fortunately for his peace of mind, there's a corner table available. Sitting with his back to the wall always makes it easier to enjoy a meal. After a glance at Jenny, though, he takes the other chair. He, after all, can sense his enemies coming, and the tension in her shoulders and the gun she's carrying suggest that her concerns might be the sort for which she needs her eyes to pick out of a crowd.

"Do you read Greek?" he inquires. "I can translate, if you don't."

Jenny settled into the corner, her eyes automatically scanning the crowd for anyone even vaguely familiar. Or anyone watching her, since she isn't exactly a complete unknown, and even someone who she doesn't know might recognize her. No one stands out, and she relaxed a fraction, resting against the back of the chair.

"It's not one of the languages I learned to read, no." Speak, yes, if only enough to carry on a casual conversation. It wasn't high on her list of priorities, even when she was working in Europe.

"No?" Methos doesn't bother to hide his smile. "You'll have time now, if you want to learn." He can remember when anyone with pretensions of civilization spoke Greek, though it was a different version of the language.

"I'll admit, I've gotten a bit rusty in the past few years, at least in the modern version." He hasn't spoken it since Alexa died, and sitting across a table from a woman who reminds him of her while the familiar smells of mediterranean cooking rise up around them is a bittersweet pleasure. He's distracted as he translates the menu, and when he orders, the waiter looks down at him with startled eyes before giving them a genuine smile and reappearing with two Mavrodafinis that he assures them are on the house. Methos orders an ouzo to go with it, and lifts an eyebrow in Jenny's direction. "One for you as well?"

Meeting Julian's gaze a moment, Jenny paused before nodding. "Yes, thank you."

Her gaze flicks to the door automatically when it opens, long enough to dismiss the faces as unfamiliar before returning to her dinner partner again. Knowing he would have caught the instinctive action, though what he'll make of it, she doesn't know. It's not quite the usual casual glance someone might give to motion they catch out of the corner of their eye, after all.

It's been fifty years or more since Methos played any spy games, but Jenny's reactions and the gun she's comfortable enough to sit down to dinner with are telling. He buries his smile in his wine. At least he won't have to teach this one to be properly cautious.

"So, what languages do you speak?" he inquires, tilting his head slightly to the side. "Russian, Arabic, Czech?" It's an oblique way of letting her know that he's aware of what he's seeing. He doesn't want her thinking she can get one over on him. It could be dangerous for both of them.

Raising an eyebrow at the question, Jenny gave him a brief smile that slid away as easily as it had appeared. "A smattering of the former, not really any of the latter two." She took a sip of her wine before adding, "French, some Spanish, a few polite phrases in Hebrew. You?"

Methos shrugs. "You'd have to look pretty hard to find a language in which I can't at least make myself understood. I teach linguistics at the University of Seacouver -- Russian, Ancient Hebrew, and Arabic, this semester. I also do a bit of translation work for a private research company on the side." Immortal or no, the Watchers were in no hurry to get rid of the only linguist they had who could translate Akkadian and Hittite as easily as French. 

"It's a gift," he finishes, then waits until the waiter has deposited their food and refilled their drinks before continuing. "Most of us speak multiple languages. It makes staying off the radar a bit easier if one can switch nationalities."

"It takes more than knowing the language to switch nationalities." Jenny gave him an amused smile. It would be interesting setting up new aliases for herself without the access she's had to government databases in the past that allowed her to give her a complete background, paperwork and all. Perhaps it would be useful to pick up a broader education in working around computer security, as well as brushing up on her language skills.

"Mm. Very true." The food is, as always, excellent. "It's a good start, though." And that was an interesting point for Jenny to make. Every instinct Methos has is telling him that there's more to this woman than she wants him to know. He can't tell if it's because she doesn't trust him, or if it's just habit. Whichever it is, though, it's going to have to stop if he's going to be able to teach her effectively.

He studies her for a moment, trying to decide if it's the right time to make a point. Best to find out if the problem is fixable now, he decides, rather than halfway into her training, and sheds Julian Pierce like a coat that's gotten too warm, giving her a good long look at what he really is before dropping the veil again. "What did you do for a living?" he asks, hoping to get some truth out of her while she's still absorbing what he's just let her see.

The sense of age that hits her when she meets Julian's eyes this time is unexpected, and Jenny is glad she isn't taking a sip of her wine when he does it. That he hides it again as easily makes her wonder just what is in his past that lets him do so. Or if it's merely the passage of time - she would wager the measure is in centuries rather than decades, though that in itself shakes her.

She takes a bite of her food, savoring the flavor for a long moment before she finally answers his question. Reluctant to disclose the full extent of what she had been, but not bothering to stick to the background she has established for Jennifer Thomas.

"I was a federal agent. The work varied, I did what needed to be done." She wouldn't have told him that much if she didn't trust him, at least to some extent. The rest would come out eventually. Sooner rather than later if they stay in DC for any length of time.

Interesting. It explains the gun, and the diamond-hard edges to her. Idly, he wonders if Salisbury'd ever run across her. Probably not -- or if he had, he doesn't know she's met her first death. Unless he does, and he's trying to track her down even as they speak. It's worth asking about. Salisbury -- no, he's using McCormick now -- isn't the sort to let this kind of thing go, and Methos would rather the man not marshal the Bureau's resources for the search.

"Ever met Matthew McCormick? He's FBI at the moment -- a profiler, if I'm remembering correctly."

The name was vaguely familiar, though she didn't think she'd actually met the man. Possibly he had come up with interagency discussions over some cases that had crossed jurisdictions.

"I haven't met him, though I think I've heard of him. We didn't get along with the FBI most of the time." Jenny smiled, a bit of private amusement about just how well or not her agents had gotten along with their counterparts at the FBI. "He's another Immortal, then?"

"Oh, yes. He's been in law enforcement for most of the past eight centuries. Worked with Elliot Ness at one point, apparently, the poor bastard." He himself had met Ness while running one of Capone's more successful speakeasys, and hadn't thought much of the man. Salisbury hadn't either, given the looks he'd shot Methos behind his superior's back. "McCormick's unusual, though. Lord's oldest, heavy sense of duty, blah blah blah. Most of us prefer vary our experiences a bit more."

Jenny wasn't sure what she'd do with centuries ahead of her, not yet. Other than keep living, now that she could. She hadn't enjoyed the idea of living with the knowledge of how long she had before she died, or being unable to fight what was killing her.

"I don't think I'd want to stay in law enforcement." While it had its advantages, it did make for a short life expectancy. Perhaps she'd find something more permanent and stable for now. Continue the life of her alias, become the office worker Jennifer Thomas. Anonimity while she learned what she could about this new life of hers.

"You may come back to it later," Methos told her, sliding his now-empty plate away from him. "Or you may not. There's plenty of time to decide, so long as you keep your head on your shoulders." He leaned back, allowing the waiter to remove his plate, and ordered two more ouzos. "Variety really is the spice of life, and boredom's more dangerous to one of us than any challenge. It's too easy to lose yourself. You've got the potential to make very old bones indeed, if you go about it the right way." He finished off his wine and put the glass down. "There's really no need to worry about a profession at the moment, though. Decide what you want to do once you're fully trained. It'll give you some perspective, for one thing."

Jenny let the corners of her mouth curl up in a smile. None of her aliases had more than a modest amount of money to draw on, and she couldn't get at her real money, not without tipping off Gibbs or someone else at NCIS that something hinky was happening.

"I wasn't thinking about a profession, Julian. Merely a job to support myself with."

Methos blinks, genuinely surprised by the thought. Byron, his most recent student, had never worried about money, and before that, a student's support had been the teacher's responsibility. "Money's not an issue. One of the benefits of an extended lifespan, at least since the development of modern banking, is the interest rate." His mouth curves up into a small smile. "I keep a low profile, but trust me when I say that my investment portfolio is really quite disgustingly healthy."

She hasn't relied on anyone to support her in years, and the idea of going back to that state of dependence is just shy of terrifying for her. Particularly when she doesn't really know Julian all that well.

"I'd be more comfortable not relying on your generosity, however far that may extend." Jenny tilted her head slightly as she smiled, her shoulders lifting slightly in a subtle shrug that wasn't quite dismissal of the idea.

"It's more or less traditional," Methos tells her. "Even in this day and age." MacLeod had supported Richie, hadn't he? He dismisses the thought with a shrug. "Even if it weren't, there are some ways in which I'm a traditionalist." Returning her smile with one of his own, he adds, "Besides, I don't want to have to worry about ruining your wardrobe during practice. I've a friend who always trains in sweats, but I'm a firm believer in being able to defend one's self in anything from jeans to a toga. And it's not as if the money's really doing anything. I've barely touched it since Alexa died, save for purchasing a few antiquities."

"Perhaps a compromise?" Jenny raised an eyebrow, willing to negotiate, though she still didn't like the idea. She thought it was rather easier than dealing with some of the men in her life before this. "You can pay for whatever you think you have to, and I can spend the money from a part-time job on what I want."

It would still make her more comfortable to support herself, or at least be able to support herself, and she wasn't about to give in on finding a job to earn some income of her own. Not even to keep a traditionalist happy.

"Very well." Methos shrugs. "Though not right away. Seacouver tends to attract some of the more unpleasant Immortals, and I'd like to be sure that you won't lose your head over a part-time job." She doesn't seem to realize the leeway she's given him with that 'whatever you think you have to', and he's not about to point it out. Sobering somewhat, he catches her eyes. "I'm not kidding about that unpleasant part," he warns her. "You were in law enforcement; I'm sure you've heard of Evan Caspari?" He'll grant his erstwhile brother this much -- even dead, he makes an excellent bogeyman.

"Yes," she answered warily, watching Julian with concern.

Caspari had been found dead in Bordeux before she she'd actually been in Europe as part of her job at NCIS, but she had heard of him. The stories of his crimes were enough to chill even now, with him dead years past. Moreso, perhaps, if he was Immortal. There was no way to know how many victims he actually had if he was.

"He was Immortal," Methos says flatly, "and as scary as he could be, he wasn't nearly as dangerous one-on-one as some of the others that are still out there. And being female will automatically mean that some of us will think you an easier target. In some ways, you will be. Upper body strength is a very large part of swordplay. I'm at a disadvantage there myself," he admits sourly. Maybe if he'd had a few more years before his First Death, he'd have developed the sort of bulk that most male Immortals take for granted. "There are ways around it, but when it comes to sheer brute strength, neither of us is in the top percentile."

"Then I'll have to make up for it in other ways, won't I?" Jenny's expression sharpened, her eyes glinting with the resolve that had gotten her to the top of NCIS, the first female director the agency had ever had. A ruthlessness that had made her enemies more than it had earned her admirers.

"That's always been my method," Methos drawls, letting a little of his own ruthlessness show in his eyes before fishing out his back up credit card and handing it to the waiter. "The ability to be underestimated is a vital skill."

He signs the returned slip, adding a generous tip, before getting to his feet and retrieving his coat from the back of his chair. "Come on; I've got to check out of my hotel and into yours still, and I've an early meeting tomorrow." He makes a face at the thought, but it can't be helped. "Hopefully we can get out of Washington in the next few days."

A hope that Jenny held as well, though she expected for somewhat different reasons. The sooner she was out of Washington, the less her risk of running into or being found by Gibbs and his team. Certainly after four days they'd have noticed her body missing, and were probably looking for it. Just not walking around.

"The room next to mine isn't occupied," she supplied as they headed out of the restaurant, tension once more settling across her shoulders as she kept an eye on the street for familiar faces.

Checking out of Julian Pierce's motel doesn't take long; nor does the taxi ride back to Jenny's hotel. Methos uses another identity to check in there, and the sight of his no-limit Amex does wonders to smooth out that particular process. He hoists his bag onto his shoulder and gestures for her to proceed him.

Jenny takes the elevator up, absently noting that the headache she'd had when she first met Julian is gone now - perhaps fading as she got used to him being there, like an itch fading when ignored. She pauses at her door, looking over at Julian, not unlocking the door yet. Waiting for what, she's not quite certain, and she shakes off the sense that the other shoe is about to drop.

Slipping the key card into the lock, she opens the door, stepping inside before she notices her guest. Automatically reaching for her gun before she even registers that it's Gibbs sitting in the chair Julian had occupied earlier, the bottle of bourbon sitting on the coffee table in front of him.

"Gibbs." Her voice shows more of her surprise than she likes, and she doesn't add to the greeting, keeping her back against the still-open door. Allowing her to see the hallway as well as the room as she waited for Julian to join her. She's not ready to face Gibbs alone, not without more answers than she has to hand.

For a long moment, Gibbs can't move. His eyes are locked on Jenny; he barely even notices her companion. 

"Jenny. How --" His voice breaks, and with it the paralysis that had kept him motionless in the chair. It's one thing to hope; another still to see a dead woman alive and well. He's on his feet before he's entirely aware of what he's doing, not sure if he means to hug Jenny or to shake her -- but as fast as he moves, it's not fast enough. The stranger is between them so quickly that he barely seems to move at all, and when Gibbs reaches for his gun, the man is there before him, seizing his wrist in a crushing grip and twisting, immobilizing him with an almost obscene ease and forcing him to his knees on the hotel carpet.

"Shall I break his arm?" British accent, as cold as the wind off of a winter sea. MI-6? The Brits are known for being tricky, but Gibbs can't imagine how they'd have pulled this off. "Or would you prefer him dead?" The man sounds as if he's asking Jenny if she'd prefer paper or plastic.

"Leave him alive, Julian." Jenny's voice is sharp with command that she knows she hasn't earned with him, but is too much a habit to break easily. She adds, in a quieter tone, "Please."

She finally moves, letting the door close behind her with a thud that sounds louder than it should. Knowing she shouldn't be surprised Gibbs found her, not when he knows at least most of her aliases, possibly more than she originally banked on. Jennifer Thomas hadn't been one she thought he knew.

"It's a long story, Jethro." She headed for the minibar for glasses, leaving two of them on the table as she poured herself a drink. "I'm not clear on all the details myself." And she wasn't actually sure she wanted to tell him the truth - as much as she had thought earlier that perhaps she might contact him later and have him verify some of the information she'd gotten from Julian.

Julian lets him go and steps back, as unruffled as if nothing at all had occurred. Gibbs gets to his feet, putting some distance between himself and the other man. Hopefully it will be enough to give him time to get to his gun -- though if this Julian isn't armed, Gibbs will go to work for the FBI. He watches Jenny cross the room, part of his brain still stuck on the marvel of seeing her again.

"Try telling me what you do know," he suggests, following her to the table and picking up his own drink. "Dammit, Jenny, I thought you were dead!" He stiffens as Julian approaches, but the man seems interested in nothing more than a drink of his own. Now that he's not twisting Gibbs' arm, he seems almost forgettably ordinary, save for his distinctive profile, but he's watching the pair of them like a hawk in search of a meal.

"I almost was." Jenny doesn't take a sip of the bourbon she's poured, just holding onto the glass as she moves toward the window, parting the curtains a fraction to look out at the street. Watching people on the orange-lit street as she couched her answers in words that weren't quite the truth, but weren't an outright lie.

"I remember being shot. I don't remember how I got back to Washington. Waking up is still fuzzy. That was four days ago. I've been here since." She turns around, looking at Gibbs steadily. "Julian came in this afternoon, he had some answers for me. But not enough."

Not yet, not until she can learn more about fighting with a sword, and whatever other survival tips he intends to part with. Until she's confident she can keep herself alive, and for the most part undetected.

"I told you everything I know--" Julian begins. Gibbs cuts him off.

"Bullshit, Jenny. I saw your _body_. They had you in a drawer in the morgue!"

"Oh, that's never fun," Julian murmurs, then subsides when Gibbs glares at him. If Gibbs' wrist weren't still aching from the force of the man's grip, he might even buy the intimidated act. As it is, it just pisses him off. 

"And who the hell are you?" he demands, only to be totally and completely ignored.

"You may as well tell him," Julian says mildly, looking at Jenny. "If you think he can be trusted to keep his mouth shut, that is." He doesn't spell out the alternative. The utter neutrality of his expression as he turns to look at Gibbs does that for him.

Jenny gives Gibbs a long, shrewd look before drawing a deep breath, and moving toward her chair. Settling into it before directing Gibbs at the other one. "Sit, Jethro."

She should have expected he'd accompany her body back to DC, would have seen her safe to Ducky for an autopsy that never happened. A mistake she would have to be sure not to make again, with anyone.

"I know I was in the morgue, Jethro. I remember breaking out of the drawer." She flicks a glance at Julian a moment before meeting Gibbs's gaze steadily. "Julian says I'm Immortal, he's been explaining what that means. I don't have any other answers for you."

Gibbs turns his glare on Julian, who's apparently back to feigning harmlessness. "Expain," he orders. Julian blinks at him over the rim of his glass, then shrugs and sits down on the edge of the unused bed. "You won't like it," he cautions, and by the time he's done explaining, Gibbs is torn between fury and disbelief.

"You're actually buying this crap?" he demands of Jenny. "Who the hell is he, anyway?" 

"Oh, I'm no one special," Julian says mildly, not in the least discomfited by being discussed as if he isn't in the room. "Just a guy."

"Jenny?" Gibbs demands.

"Someone a lot older than you, who provided enough proof to back up at least some of that." Jenny glares at Gibbs, sitting straight in her chair, and drawing on the authority that she's only recently shed with her death. "I know I was dead, Gibbs, and I've seen the healing this - whatever this is - provides. The rest of it, I don't know. But I'd rather have the skills and tools to keep myself safe if it is than doubt it all and end up dead!"

She was almost tempted to send him to find the Matthew McCormick Julian had mentioned at dinner. If this was true, as she was being more inclined to believe by the moment, than he'd be able to corroborate what Julian had just explained to Gibbs, and had told her earlier.

"Give me some credit," Methos murmurs. "If I were going to make something up, it would be a lot more believable."

Gibbs studies him for a long moment, eyes narrowed, and Methos can't help being glad that this one at least is mortal. He wouldn't want to face the man over crossed swords, and Gibbs' next question clinches it.

"How much older?"

"Hasn't anyone told you that's a rude question?" Methos counters. 

"Yeah, well, I'm not one for manners," Gibbs says. Methos doesn't bother to hide his smile.

"A palpable hit," he says, tilting his head in acknowledgement. "Let's just say the number has four digits and leave it at that, shall we?" He lets the smile slide from his lips, and fixes Gibbs with a stare that has his full weight behind it. "The Game is about survival, Gibbs, and I'm quite possibly the best there is at that. Jenny is in good hands."

Jenny watched the interplay with a wary eye, raising an eyebrow at Julian's answer to the question of his age. Centuries she had thought about. Millennia? Hadn't crossed her mind, and that made her wonder just how long an Immortal could keep living without starting to forget things. Because she was certain there couldn't be enough room in one mind for all those memories.

"Leave it, Jethro." She finally interjected her own opinion into the argument, an undertone of steel to her voice. "I trust Julian to teach me what I need to know." Not necessarily everything he knew, or to share everything about his past, but enough for her to have a decent handle on what being an Immortal was about.

"If you say so," Gibbs says. Methos can hear the doubt in the man's voice, but the certainty in Jenny's interests him more; is a relief, quite frankly. Gibbs turns that piercing glare on him again.

"If you let anything happen to her, I'll behead you myself." There's no doubt in Methos' mind that Gibbs means it. He conceals his own unease behind the sort of smirk that drives MacLeod up the wall.

"You're welcome to try." He glances at Jenny, then back at Gibbs, still glaring blue murder at him. "Look, it's considered very bad form to let anything happen to a student, and I don't let my students go off half-trained, all right?" None of them are still living, but that's due mostly to their own flaws or carelessness. He pushes Kronos' memory ruthlessly out of his mind and continues, "She's got a better chance at survival than most new Immortals, and I'll do my best to increase her odds."

Gibbs nods, and Methos glances at Jenny again. "Would you like some privacy?" he asks, lifting an eyebrow.

"That would be appreciated, Julian, thank you."

Methos tosses back the rest of the bourbon before getting to his feet.

"If you need anything, you know where I am. If you sense anyone else, stay in your room and bolt the door. I'll handle it." He nods to Gibbs, then saunters out of the room, trying to remember what he's packed to read.

Jenny doesn't break the silence that falls as the door shuts behind Julian, sipping instead at her bourbon as she watches Gibbs. Waiting for him to say what he wants to say, whatever that may be, while she collects her thoughts. She might trust Julian to teach her, and help her, but she knows Gibbs will need more. At least she won't have to tell him to keep this to himself.

"How much do you know about that guy?" It's probably a stupid question, since Jenny's already said that Julian didn't show up until today, but he can't help asking. He doesn't like the man, and it's not just because Julian offered to kill him. "What if -- and I can't believe I'm saying this -- what if he's after your head himself?"

"I don't know him, Jethro. But he's had opportunity already to take my head, and he hasn't." Jenny leaned back in her chair, her gaze fixed on the middle distance a moment before she continued, "Find a man called Matthew McCormick. Julian says he works for the FBI, I want proof of that. And ask him about a Julian Pierce, teaching at the University of Seacouver." A small smile curled her lips. "I'm almost looking forward to moving across the country."

"McCormick? He's FBI, all right." He's met McCormick on more than one occasion. The FBI agent is stubborn, sneaky, and a gifted profiler. Gibbs would probably like him, if he didn't work for the Bureau. "What does he have to do with this nonsense?"

He couldn't really make the memories of the prosaic, practical McCormick mesh with this wild nonsense Pierce had spouted. Still, there were hidden -- and dangerous -- edges to the FBI agent. Maybe this was why.

"Julian claims McCormick is an Immortal." Jenny wasn't entirely surprised Gibbs already knew who McCormick was. He always had had information she couldn't quite figure out how he knew. "I'd like confirmation."

"McCormick's Immortal." Gibbs snorts. "Figures. He's the only FBI agent I've ever met who doesn't like publicity." He looks over at Jenny, catches her eyes. "I'll find out what I can," he promises. "Even if I have to send DiNozzo to annoy him into a confession."

Not that he plans on telling DiNozzo, or anyone else for that matter -- he doesn't want to get *committed* -- but if anyone could get Matthew McCormick to visibly lose that too-controlled temper of his, it would be Tony. "I'm kidding, Jenny," he assures her, before she can get really annoyed with him. "I get why no one can know, assuming this is true."

"Good." Jenny finished her bourbon, her expression unreadable for a long moment before a bit of a smile touched her face. "You know where I'll be when you get that information." For now, it was all she could ask of Gibbs. Whatever the answers were, they weren't likely to change her mind on what she was going to do.

Gibbs nods, then stands up, leaving his mostly-untouched glass on the table. "However it happened," he tells her, "I'm glad you're not dead." He pauses. "And -- if Pierce is serious about protecting you, I'm glad you ran into him. If he's not -- Jenny, he's probably the most dangerous son of a bitch I've ever come across." The 'be careful' doesn't need to be said. Leaning down, he kisses her carefully on the cheek. "I'll see you soon," he promises.

"You will, Jethro." The promise that she would be careful, and that she could take care of herself all rolled up in those words. Jenny watched Gibbs leave, cradling her glass for a long moment before she set it down.

~ ~~ ~

Matthew McCormick was seriously annoyed. It wasn't every day that a colleague -- much less one as formidable as Leroy Jethro Gibbs -- tracked him down and demanded information on Immortality at gunpoint. Gibbs had flatly refused to tell him why said questions were being asked, but it hadn't been hard to piece things together. Jennifer Sheppard's death had been a leading news story in Washington, and she and Gibbs had been close for years. The intensity of Gibbs' demands -- and the threat of being shot -- had stitched together the final picture. Someone -- someone Gibbs didn't trust -- had sent the man Matthew's way.

His first thought was Corwin, as it always was when trouble he himself had not instigated made its presence felt in his normally orderly life. His inimitable student was exactly the sort to send Gibbs his way, without thinking through his actions, and it was a guaranteed fact that Gibbs wouldn't trust Cory as far as he could throw him -- which wouldn't be far. Cory, despite his air of nonchalance, was dangerous when he deemed it necessary.

A few hours' dedicated work had yielded Jenny Sheppard's aliases, and Matthew's suspicions had been confirmed when he discovered that one of them had been used to check into a hotel. Cory's name was not on the guest registrar, but his student would certainly know where he could be found.

It took nearly an hour to get through rush-hour traffic to the hotel to which Director Sheppard had chosen to retreat, and by the time he got there, Matthew was ready to do some shooting of his own. Cory really should have known better.

Jenny felt the headache start up behind her eyes as she raised her fork, setting it down again before she could take the bite of pasta. This time she recognized it, the same sort of headache she'd gotten when she first ran into Julian. She hadn't yet seen Gibbs, but she had little doubt that if McCormick was Immortal, he was the source of the headache.

There were definitely two Immortals in the bar, but as Matthew came around the corner, he had to prevent his jaw from dropping. Jenny Sheppard was easily recognized -- and so was her companion. He hadn't seen Methos in nearly a hundred years, and *really* hadn't expected to see the man taking up with so high-profile a student -- or any student at all, for that matter.

Sheppard was looking at him, eyes hard, but Methos was ignoring him, and that was a good deal more worrisome. They'd been...not friends, but friendly, certainly, largely because Matthew's teacher had been close to Ramirez before the old Egyptian's death. If Methos was annoyed with him -- well. Matthew wouldn't want to wager money on his own continued survival. Ancient Immortals were, as a rule, more ruthless than he could dream of being, and Methos was the most ruthless of them all.

Forcing his face into neutral lines, Matthew made his way to their table. Methos finally deigned to look up at him.

The cool displeasure in the man's eyes made Matthew wonder if Methos had actually been the one to send Gibbs after him.

"McCormick," he said, after a moment.

Matthew nodded. He wasn't sure which identity Methos was using, and didn't want to out him. "Good to see you again," he said politely. "It would be better if I hadn't had an extremely irate NCIS agent in my office this afternoon."

Jenny quirked an eyebrow up, though she wasn't about to deny that she'd sent Gibbs on an information hunt. "Jethro isn't very fond of FBI agents, Mr. McCormick. And he had quite a shock last night."

"I had one of my own this afternoon," Matthew said dryly, glad to see that Methos was looking much less hostile. He really did not want to face the oldest of them all across drawn swords, not least of all because he suspected that Methos would probably cheat. "May I sit?" Methos nodded, and Matthew took a seat, lowering his voice. "Your Agent Gibbs stuck a gun in my face at Quantico. I've a few more years of life left in this identity, and I would have been seriously annoyed to have been forced to give it up had he actually shot me."

"Annoyed enough to challenge me?" Methos asked mildly. Matthew shook his head.

"Actually, my first suspect was Corwin," he said dryly, and watched Methos' lips curve into a genuine smile.

"That...would have been worth watching," Methos said. "I can just see him trying to teach Jenny."

"Who's Corwin?" Jenny reached for her wine, taking a sip as she looked between Julian and McCormick. "Other than another Immortal, I assume."

Someone they doubted would be able to teach her what she needed to know, at least at first impression from their comments. Though there could be some other reason, since she didn't know any of them well enough to make more than a tentative guess.

Methos looks over at Salisbury. Cory Raines, thank the gods, is not his student, or his responsibility. Matthew looks amused.

"A student of mine. He's..." Matthew shrugs. "He's a bank robber."

"Oh, you're leaving out the best part," Methos murmurs. Matthew pinches the bridge of his nose. If anything could induce headaches in an Immortal, it would be having to deal with Cory Raines.

"He gives the money away," Matthew admits. "To charity. Most of it, at any rate. And he gets shot. A lot."

Jenny raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk curling the corners of her mouth. "That doesn't sound very good for keeping his head. Or staying under the radar." Someone she'd probably find a reason to want to shoot herself, sooner or later. If she ever met him, which she rather hoped she didn't.

"You have *no idea*," Matthew told her. There were reasons he'd chosen to go into the FBI rather than another local police department, and more than one of them involved Corwin. "He's a good man, though," he assured her. "Just not someone I'd have chosen to teach anyone with your background. Even when he's not actively robbing banks, he's an inveterate magpie."

"Good to know." Jenny picked up her fork again, taking a bite of her dinner. Watching McCormick while she ate, and adding after a moment. "Someone with my background, Agent McCormick?" Curious what about her history he was referring to, though she expected it was as simple as her having been the director of a federal agency, and this Corwin being a criminal, however noble-minded his actions afterward.

"Any right-minded law-enforcement official would shoot Cory inside of a day," Matthew says. "I've done it myself. The worst part is that it has absolutely no effect." The only Immortal he's ever met who takes death so casually is Methos, and Methos at least will complain about it. Cory just bounces right back and continues about whatever business he was on in the first place.

Chuckling, Jenny looked down at her plate, setting her fork down again before she returned her gaze to McCormick. At least her assessment of what he thought was relevant had been correct. "That would assume I'm always in my right mind, Agent McCormick."

"Matthew, please," he tells her. "Though I suppose you're right. Anyone who regularly puts up with Agent Gibbs could probably handle Corwin. Firm, simple instructions generally work."

"Duncan MacLeod threatened to throw him out a window," Methos offers.

Matthew winces. "Tell me this doesn't have to do with Amanda?" he half-pleads. "I spent months -- *months* -- cleaning up after them in the twenties. Neither of them is exactly forgettable, even when most of the witnesses are focusing on the guns."

Methos smirks. Matthew had forgotten how truly irritating the man could be at times. "Amanda *and* the Russian Mob," he says, with a great deal of enjoyment, then laughs. "Don't worry, McCormick. MacLeod dealt with it."

"And didn't just make things worse?" Matthew respects both of the MacLeods, but the other one has the subtlety of a hammer to the forehead.

"Amazingly enough, no," Methos assures him.

Two more names for her to remember, and Jenny would lay money on them both being Immortals as well. "It takes more than simple instructions to manage Agent Gibbs, Matthew. Though I will accept your word that this Corwin could be handled in a similar fashion." She reached for her wine, taking a sip before she took another bite of dinner.

"I'm well aware of that," Matthew said dryly. "We've encountered one another before. Several times." One of those encounters had led to a jurisdictional battle that had given Parnell a serious headache, and Matthew a strong desire to quit the Bureau immediately. He sobered. "I understand why you sent him to me," he said seriously. "Don't do it again."

"I won't." Jenny met his gaze steadily. "I can't promise he won't come asking questions again, but it won't be because I sent him."

"It was a dangerous risk to take," Methos says seriously. "Matthew's ridiulously honourable, especially where other cops are concerned, but there are those of us who'd not only have killed Agent Gibbs, but come after you as well, and they wouldn't necessarily be bad guys." He looks steadily at his student. "The lab table I mentioned has been reality for some of us, and it's something that many of us will go to any lengths to keep from happening again."

"A risk Gibbs would have taken on his own, possibly with more lethal and spectacular results," Jenny pointed out, meeting Julian's gaze steadily. "He was already aware Matthew was an FBI agent, and I expect he'd have taken sufficient precautions to remain as safe as is possible." Since there were always risks inherent in confronting an unknown individual.

"He's right," Matthew interjects. "It's not a good idea to send a mortal after one of us, especially when they know what we are -- and especially if they have government connections. I helped pull five of us out of Belsen at the end of the last war, and it was neither the first nor the last time I've had to do something like that. It's always ugly, and usually, the Immortal has to be killed."

"I didn't," Methos points out, smirking.

"You've been through worse," Matthew reminds him. "I heard all of Ramirez' stories, remember?" Methos subsides, scowling.

Jenny's expression didn't change much, a polite mask she'd perfected over the years. "I trust Gibbs." Trusted that he wouldn't do something that would risk the secret of Immortality falling into the wrong hands. Which at the moment, included the government, since she had no intention of going back to work for them at the moment.

"And I don't kill mortals to protect my secret," Matthew says, ignoring Methos' murmured 'idiot'. "Nevertheless -- most of us do. You put Gibbs in an appalling amount of danger. If my position and Adam's were reversed, and you'd sent him to Adam instead, he'd most likely be dead now."

Jenny raised an eyebrow at Julian, taking another sip of her wine. Amused, but unsurprised by the different name Julian had given Matthew. "If you had been the first person I met after this started, I doubt I would have sent Gibbs to someone else, Matthew."

"I'm not trustworthy, apparently," Methos explains. Matthew forces back a laugh.

"You are when you want to be," he says dryly. Methos bows a little in his seat, amusement twisting one corner of his mouth.

"Touche." He glances over at Jenny. "If you'd prefer to switch teachers, I promise I won't take it personally."

"He won't," Matthew assures her. "And I've no objection -- though you should know that Adam --"

"It's Julian at the moment, Salisbury, and I'd thank you to remember it." Matthew rolls his eyes.

"_Julian_, then, can probably teach you more than I can."

"I have no intention of switching teachers." Jenny shrugged slightly, a bit of a smile on her face. "I prefer to learn from the best."

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2009/2010. Unedited.


End file.
